


The Salt Wound Routine

by spacemonkey



Category: U2
Genre: Angst, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2015-10-14
Packaged: 2018-04-26 09:17:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4999222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacemonkey/pseuds/spacemonkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They had three days till the tour began, and Edge knew that they weren't ready. Set in 1997.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Salt Wound Routine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fouroux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fouroux/gifts).



> This started as a single line that Bono said, and it rolled around in my head for a couple of days with me before I decided to do something about it. For Jana, who has been terribly sick these past few days. Title comes from the song of the same name by Thirteen Senses

The doors slid shut, and Edge leaned back into the wall and watched the floor numbers tick on by. He hoped that they wouldn’t stop. He didn’t want to see other people, not even for the half a minute they might spend together in silence, and he didn’t even have to look at Bono to figure that he was in the same mindset. He didn’t even know what time it was, just that it was late, too late for how little progress he’d felt they’d made, and he pressed his knuckle to the bridge of his nose in the hopes that it might bring him a little relief.

It didn’t work much, and he felt shaky from too much caffeine and too little food, and he’d just played on through dinner time. He could remember a sandwich just after midday and a few sneakings of M&M’s and some mints as the day went on, he could remember the cups of coffee and the stops and starts, and he could remember Bono’s frustrated yell and the way he’d only just stopped himself from throwing his microphone across the stage. Edge had stood to the side and picked at his strings as the words had flown, and he’d stayed out of it and related completely to Bono's tantrum.

He looked at Bono, pressed into the corner of the elevator with his arms tight around his chest and his body slumped like he was pained, and he seemed smaller than Edge could ever remember seeing him. He took in the tilt of Bono’s head as he stared at the wall and Edge wondered he was thinking, and he pressed his knuckle into his forehead instead and a ding cut through the silence. Bono blinked at the noise, and when the doors slid open he pushed away from the wall and glanced at Edge for only a second before stepping out onto the red checkered carpet.

It was a look that Edge recognized, a look that was usually followed by slammed doors and awkward apologies a few hours later, and Edge wasn’t having it. He stepped out after Bono and walked a few steps behind, looking at the lines of his shoulders and down, and when Bono stopped at his door and started fishing for his room card, Edge wrapped his fingers around his arm and kept on walking.

He’d expected the resistance and was ready for the struggle, but Edge was surprised at how little Bono fought. Still, he staggered in his steps and gripped harder and kept his eyes straight ahead, and he heard Bono swear under his breath and then they were walking past another door until Edge got to where he wanted to be. He pulled out his wallet and looked through his cards, certain that he’d slipped his room card in there that morning, and Bono leaned against the door with his arms crossed and watched him, looking so indifferent to the whole thing that Edge knew he felt the complete opposite.

He found the card slipped in behind the photo of his girls and he couldn’t remember putting it there at all, and he rubbed at the throb behind his eye and held out the card to Bono. “Can’t handle a door, Edge?” Bono asked, and his voice was almost sweet but Edge could see it in the twist of his mouth.

“You’re blocking the way,” Edge said simply. It wasn’t the answer Bono had been looking for, and Edge could tell by the way his face changed and his arms dropped, and he could just tell. He didn’t take the card though, just slid to the side until the handle was uncovered. Edge leaned in and grasped at Bono’s hip like he could remember doing one drunken night before Christmas and Bono had laughed then as Edge had steadied himself enough to open the door.

He caught the grin on Bono’s face as he slid the card in, and he pretended not to see it as he watched for the green and waited for the click, and he slid the card out and opened the door slowly. Bono went back with it, the shadow of the room coming over his face, and Edge let go of the handle and smiled when the door kept on going. He dropped his hand from Bono’s hip and walked past him and flicked the light on as he went, and he listened to the slow squeak of the door closing and didn’t look behind him. He felt a little sick to the stomach and his headache was growing, and he considered for a moment pulling the door back open and directing Bono back to his own room. It would be easier, it would be so much easier on him at least, but he could feel it from his head down and onward; a need that he knew had been there from the moment Bono had turned to Larry and screamed. 

Bono brushed past him on his way to the minibar, and Edge watched him bend over and look inside, and Edge took in the curve of his arse in dark pants, and he slipped the card back into his wallet and set his wallet down on the counter. Bono had settled on an old faithful, and he pulled out a single glass from the cupboard and poured a small amount of vodka into it. He slid the glass towards Edge and brought the bottle to his lips, and Edge let him have the moment. He didn’t touch the glass, and he rubbed at his eye and pulled out a bottle of water instead, and rummaged till he found the right pills. He swallowed two, and Bono set the bottle down on the counter and looked at him, really looked at him for maybe the first time since they’d left that morning. “Headache?”

“I’m alright. Just hungry, I think.”

Bono leaned back against the counter and reached for the bottle again, and he raised an eyebrow and looked Edge up at down with a smirk on his face. “I gathered.” He drank from the bottle until Edge grabbed for it, and he let it go willingly and wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. He watched as Edge set the bottle back down, and he kept looking at it even as Edge pressed him into the counter. He smelled of sweat and cigarette smoke, and Edge pressed his lips against Bono’s neck and dragged his tongue up until he could nip at Bono’s ear, and Bono turned his head and looked at him. He smiled faintly, but Edge could still almost make out that same look and he took a step back and shrugged his shoulders. “Not going to fuck me in the kitchen then?” Bono asked.

“I’d thought about it.” He hadn’t really but he said it anyway, just for the reaction he knew it would get him.

“Ooh, Mr The Edge,” Bono let out in a teasing voice that Edge had been wanting to hear. Bono's head fell back and he gripped at the lip of the counter, and when his head rolled forward he was smiling. He stepped forward until they were near flush again, his hand coming up between them, and he traced the letters of Edge’s shirt with a single finger, his brow furrowed in mock concentration. He stopped mid letter and leaned in until his lips brushed against the shell of Edge’s ear. “I could suck your cock,” he whispered, and a tiny thrill shot through Edge’s body. It was tempting, it was certainly tempting and his hands twitched with the urge to reach up and push Bono to his knees, and he felt the hot breath against his cheek, his chin and then against his lips. Edge could smell the vodka there, and he nearly went cross eyed as he watched Bono’s mouth, an inch away from his own and lingering, and he waited for Bono to press in and he watched the tip of Bono’s tongue slide out between his teeth. He nearly leaned in, nearly opened his mouth to draw Bono’s tongue inside, and he let the moment hang for a second too long before he brought his hands up to grip at Bono’s shoulders. Bono licked his lips and smirked, but Edge just pushed him back.

“I’m going to order some food,” Edge said, and Bono’s face turned. “Why don’t you go and have a shower?”

“I don’t want to have a shower.”

“I don’t really care,” Edge said, and he saw Bono’s jaw clench and his throat work, and he held up a hand. “I think you should have a long and thorough shower, Bono.” He cocked an eyebrow and it took Bono a second to catch on, and when he did his face softened and his finger came back up against Edge’s chest.

“Thorough, you think?”

“It’s what I want,” Edge said simply, and Bono smiled.

He ordered room service while Bono showered, and he told himself while the phone was ringing that he’d be good and get something healthy, and when the girl answered he threw that out the window completely and ordered a pizza for the both of them. He snacked on a bag of nuts that the hotel supplied and that he was sure wasn’t worth the price they were charging people, and he stood outside the bathroom and listened to the shower run. His headache had turned into a tiny niggle in the back of his mind and he was glad for it, and he pressed his forehead against the cool wood of the door and sucked the salt off the nut between his fingertips, and he thought of Bono underneath the steady stream of the water. He reached for the handle and thought better of it, knowing he should wait for his food to arrive, but it was near impossible. He felt tense, frustrated and not just from the feeling coming from low in his belly, and he’d spent the night before restless in bed and wanting to scream into his pillow. His mind shifted to the day, the long, long day they’d just endured, and the day before had been nearly as long. Three days. They had three days left.

His chest felt tight and there was a second there where he couldn’t breathe, and he had to push it from his mind and focus, focus on what was beyond the door because he knew Bono and he knew himself, and he knew that out of the two of them, he was the one who could find peace in the middle of it all. He turned his head until his cheek met the door, and he listened for the sound of Bono’s singing, a sound he often heard while Bono was in the shower, but there was nothing but the water beating down.

They sat at the table with the pizza in front of them, and Bono shook his head when Edge offered him a slice and opened another bottle. He drank from it steadily before setting the bottle down on the table, and he wiped his hand on the towel around his waist to rid his palm of the condensation. His face was blank as he watched Edge eat, and when Edge reached for the third slice he let out a sigh and rested his cheek against his hand.

Edge looked at his arm as he chewed, looked at the way his elbow pressed into the table and looked past it to his neck, still pink from the heat of the shower. His chest hair looked darker from the damp, and Edge knew he hadn’t dried himself properly, and the thought of Bono in such a rush made Edge smile. He took another bite and Bono sighed again and reached for the bottle.

Edge chewed slowly, watching Bono’s throat work, and he set down his half eaten slice and wiped his hands on a napkin and swallowed, and when Bono set the bottle down he held out a hand. Bono made a face, but he slid the bottle towards Edge and it was barely a quarter full, and Edge brought it to his lips and drank, washing away the greasy taste of the pizza and burning a little on the way down. He set the empty bottle onto the table and stood up and started for the bedroom. He heard Bono’s chair being pushed back and listened to Bono’s feet against the floor a few steps behind, and he turned on the bedroom light and stood by the bed, and Bono gripped at the doorframe with a steady hand. “Feeling better now, Edge?” he asked.

“On the bed,” Edge replied, and the side of Bono’s mouth twitched. He pushed away from the doorframe and moved forward, undoing the towel around his waist and stepping over it as he went. “Face down, B.” He didn’t really have to say it but he wanted to, and when Bono did exactly that it left him with a warm feeling that started at his neck and headed south. He looked at Bono for a moment, looked at his calves and the line of his back, and he couldn’t remember ever seeing Bono in better shape. He nearly told him how good he looked, nearly pulled him back up to kiss him and he wanted to run his hand along Bono’s stomach and lower, and his hand flexed at his side and pushed it all away.

Bono jerked slightly when Edge kneeled on the bed, and again when Edge grabbed him just behind his knee, and he turned his head to the side and breathed, and Edge took in the stricken look on his face and knew it wouldn’t do. He rubbed at the back of Bono’s knee until Bono smiled and pulled his legs apart a little further, and he shifted closer and dragged his hand as he went, up the back of Bono’s thigh until he reached the curve of his arse. He heard Bono’s breathing quicken and watched his body as it relaxed against the covers, and Edge pinched him gently on the arse and laughed at the noise Bono made. “Stop fucking around,” Bono snapped, his arm coming back to slap at Edge’s thigh, and it stung even through his jeans.  He grabbed Bono’s wrist and pushed his arm back down, and held it there for a few seconds longer to remind Bono, and when he released it Bono pulled his arm back up.  He rested his cheek against the back of his hand and closed his eyes. “Edge?”

“What is it?”

“Do you think we’re going to be ready?”

It wasn’t really a conversation Edge wanted to have, not when Bono was spread out on the bed in front of him and not later when they were in the dark and speaking with hushed tones like they were scared that someone might hear their doubt though the thickness of the hotel walls. It was inevitable though, and it was a conversation that always happened, and usually Edge could feel a bit of confidence in answering it. “I do.”

He could see from the look on his face that Bono didn’t believe him, and Edge waited for it to come, waited and readied himself. Bono stayed quiet though and kept his eyes shut, and Edge rubbed his lower lip against his teeth as he thought it through, and he leaned up high and kissed Bono on his temple. Bono’s hair brushed damp against his cheek and he brought a hand up and rubbed at the top of Bono’s head, feeling the hair prickle against his palm. It was short, shorter than he’d ever seen it and Edge was quickly learning to know this Bono. “It’ll all work out,” he murmured, and Bono shook his head. “It will.”

“But-”

“Trust me.” Edge pressed his lips to the skin just behind Bono’s ear and then shifted, dragging his hand down Bono’s side as he went. He kissed between Bono’s shoulder blades and breathed against the dip of Bono’s lower back, and he felt Bono’s body tense under his hands when he grasped at Bono’s arse. “It’ll be fine.

“We’re not ready,” Bono said, his voice shaking slightly, and Edge knew there would be no convincing him, not yet. “Edge-”

“Bono,” Edge warned, and he heard the huff come from Bono’s mouth and he dug his fingers in tighter and Bono fell silent. Edge knew more would come, after when they were in the dark and it was easier for Edge to make it work. He knew they weren’t ready, had known it for days, and he could almost see it now, the after when Bono left her in the company of drink and friends and came to him, snapping and grabbing and demanding until he could rush into it and make it burn.

He nearly looked back up and thought better of it, and he spread Bono’s arse further apart and leaned in until the point of his nose was pressed down towards his lips. He kissed Bono, off to the side and swiftly, before turning his head. Bono moaned at the first touch of Edge’s tongue, and he licked and sucked and heard it again and again; a desperate needy little sound that Edge let roll around in his mind to remind him who exactly was in control.

 


End file.
